The West Coast Adventure Takes a Turn – An Unsought Date – Some Spiritual Guidance, in the Form of Books – Liplocked! – In the Buff – Locavore Etiquette – The Worst Thing Happens

Less than twenty-four hours after they ran into each other, Jay called Nicole to ask her out on a date. That was the word he used-"date." She tried to remember the last time a guy had said such a thing to her, and couldn't.

When she showed up at Lovely Hula Hands, Jay was already there, waiting out front, with a bouquet of peonies in his hand. Flowers: another first. But the problem with the peonies was that there was nowhere to put them, and staring at the flowers made her feel like they gave the evening more gravitas than she would have liked.

Nicole's anxieties mounted as she found out more about Jay. He seemed like a nice person, if he were a neighbor or a coworker, but not someone who would understand her any better than he had back in school in Physics lab. She tried to explain her career confusion and her life in New York and how she didn't know what she was doing with her life, let alone where to live; Jay recommended the work of Deepak Chopra, Malcolm Gladwell, and Andy Samberg to help sort things out.

After the risotto and the sorbet, Jay walked her back to her temporary home. On the way they watched a Merce Cunningham memorial bike parade ride by. Nicole took a photo of it to send to Darshan.

At the door, Jay put his hand on the side of Nicole's face and said, "I had a really nice time tonight." She closed her eyes and he kissed her. Afterward, she just smiled and waved and tried to look mysterious as she unlocked the door.

"Oh my God," she screamed. Rusty looked startled. He was smoking pot, singing along with Grace Slick to "White Rabbit," and playing solitaire. "Jay just kissed me and it was awful."

"Awful in what way?"

"You know those pedicures from Asia where you put you feet in an aquarium and fish eat the dead skin off?"

"No. Wait, wait! This is the best part." He paused to sing the song's "keep your head" ending. When the song was over, he continued his thought. "Metrosexuals are so 2003, Nicole."

"Whatever, Russie, once I had to get one for work. Anyway, my point is that kissing Jay felt like a fish sucking dead skin off my feet."

"Unacceptable."

"Yeah."

The next day, Nicole woke up to a heat wave. Portland was hot, with a high of 106, and no one had or even believed in air conditioning. Rusty said he felt the need for "some rays on the old bod" and Nicole wanted to think about something other than her shambolic love life, so they got in his car, blasting The Last Waltz soundtrack, and headed for the nude beach at Sauvie Island.

There they peeled off their denim cut-offs and wife beaters and shared a six-pack of Fat Tire and a joint, totally naked. But instead of feeling French or even just really free, as they had thought befitting of a nude beach, they felt disappointed by their fellow beachgoers: middle-aged women with saggy, sunburned breasts; guys who looked like Jesus.

"This is like going swimming in the Ozarks," Rusty said.

A minute later. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was really classist of me."

Another minute later. "Let's bounce," he said.

On the ride home, they stopped at a farm stand to buy ingredients for a dish they were to bring to a potluck garden party.

In the kitchen, Rusty chopped while Nicole emulsified a vinaigrette. "Hey Nic, are toothpicks acceptable for the locavore beet salad if they are made from bamboo? I get so confused since bamboo is good but also evil, right?"

"Why does everything have to be so virtuous in Portland?" Nicole held her whisk aloft. "Someone was guilt tripping me at New Seasons the other day for forgetting to bring my own Sigg bottle. Can't I just drink my liter of Fiji water in peace?"

"Dude." Rusty put down the box of toothpicks and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you PMSing really bad right now? You can tell me. I have older sisters."

"I'm not. Hmmm, wait...." She started counting on her fingers. Then she frowned, and opened up the iMensies app on her iPhone. "Fuck," she said.

"What?"

"Russ, stop being such a boy. I'm late." She stuck the tip of her thumbnail in her mouth and bit it. "My period is late."

Are you behind-just like our heroine??? Catch up!

Marisa Meltzer lives in Brooklyn. Her next book, "Girl Power," will be published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux in February.